


A Different Kind of Mercy

by smutgusher



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Assassination, Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Gore, Class Differences, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Eye Sex, Fantasy, Knifeplay, M/M, Magic, Murder, Necrophilia, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Play, Regeneration, Snuff, Suicide, Wound Fucking, brain fuck, death kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutgusher/pseuds/smutgusher
Summary: A demigod and his devout follower deal out their own kind of justice.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 15





	A Different Kind of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ALWDLM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALWDLM/gifts).



> This story was requested by [@KevIsNsfl](https://twitter.com/KevIsNsfl) on Twitter! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to work on your OC!

Ardain pressed the knife to Kev’s throat, drawing a small bead of blood. 

Kev whined, his eyes watering in anticipation. He almost reached for the knife to feel the wound, but Ardain took his hands and clasped them both in his palm. 

“Be patient. You will feel it.” 

The rogue sniffed, and pressed his hands together within Ardain’s grip, concentrating. He returned with the knife, twisting the point into the cut. It was blunt, and the pressure of the blade pushing into his throat choked him. He swallowed wetly as it entered him. 

Ardain touched his lips to Kev’s, shoving the knife in suddenly, forcing a cough. A globule of blood backed up into his mouth and Ardain pushed his tongue over it. The demigod let go of the handle, leaving the blade firmly planted in Kev’s neck. Little dwindling huffs of breath escaped between their lips. 

The demigod drew back from the kiss to see his creation. 

Stripes of red interrupted the blue tattoos on the skin of his Aasimar, stripes he’d cut into the man himself. They’d healed into scars, and neither had chosen to banish them yet. 

After a nod from Ardain, he drew up a hand and placed it to his neck, fingers curling around the knife, baring his already-obvious feelings on the entire situation. 

With his other hand, he held his shaft in a vice grip, frantically pumping away. Ardain re-approached him, curling his arms under the mortal’s own, gnawing at his shoulder. Kev tugged the knife from side to side, enlarging the wound, each yank causing a stream of blood to gush from his neck. 

By the grace of Ardain and the blessing of his celestial, he had lasted far longer than any other would have in the same circumstances. Yet this could not last forever. 

He yanked the knife one more time, severing his jugular and disconnecting the flow of oxygen to his brain. His already blurry vision shifted, darkening around the edges, and his last moment was of beautiful, loving, glorious orgasm in the arms of his god. 

* * *

Some time later, his vision ascended from the depths of nothingness. Ardain was above him, the demigod’s hands glowing as they passed over his body, finishing his revival from the brink of death. The god noticed Kev awaken and planted a kiss on his forehead, easing him back to a seated position on their rented bed. 

“Are you ready to receive your divine instruction?” 

Kev looked up at Ardain. “Yes.” 

To an outsider, Ardain’s words sounded like a godly edict thundering down from the heavens. In reality, while the relationship was officially of a god and his follower, their relations were a lot more mutual. 

The blood-splattered room they occupied had an unobstructed view of the Grand Palace, proudly atop the steep incline the city was built upon. Apart from one gleaming road racing up the side of the slope, the rest of the city was a stinking slum that had grown around the nobles’ gilded cage. 

On the road, they’d heard a lot of miserable stories from merchants and travelers about the city. Each one pissed them off a little more. By the time they reached the mountainous smokestack, Kev was ready to step in and slaughter his way through the entire palace, crush everyone’s skulls and fuck whatever was left. Ordinarily, Ardain would be happy to grant him free rein. Yet this time, the demigod asked him to wait. 

The reasons quickly became apparent once Ardain laid out his plan, and was how Kev found himself wearing _clothes._ He usually wore simple body coverings while traveling, but most of the time he preferred to be in the buff. At the moment he approached the golden gates, he was wearing the high fashion clothes befitting nobles attending court. With Kev’s natural charm and silver tongue, he talked his way in without an invitation to the party. 

He heard the ripples haughty laughter before he saw whom it belonged to, and his teeth itched. He entered the main hall, festooned with gold, intricate art and delicate chandeliers. The scene unfolded in front of him – the room was _packed_ with finely-dressed people: some talking in circles, some eating and drinking, others stepping gracefully across the floor in their formal dances. 

He felt so out of place. Kev couldn’t _stand_ these people. But he kept Ardain’s plan in mind, giving him the clarity he needed, and worked his way into the crowd, turning on the charm. 

“And what do you do?” a clearly drunk lady asked. 

Kev looked at the woman, festooned in lace, and replied: “Oh, I’m an assassin.” 

She blanched a little, swallowed and continued. “Tell me more.” 

“My methods are quite… unique.” Kev responded with a grin. “It’s what makes me so effective. There’s nothing like seeing the light fade from a man’s eyes while you’re balls deep inside of him.” 

He was gathering attention, and curious listeners turned towards him. The lady looked up at him with wide eyes, skin flushed with… arousal? What kind of crowd _was_ this? 

He continued speaking, but internally he was losing his mind. Usually these kinds of speeches were reserved for the moment he towered over his victim, cock wrapped around their spilled guts. Were it not for the fact he was heaven sent on ending the lives of every living being in the room apart from the servants, he’d almost go as far as to call them _his_ people. But here they were, eating up his stories of killing people and fucking their corpses. (He left out the part about what he did to himself. Not that he didn’t love telling people every single detail of his work, but they’d see it for themselves very soon.) 

Kev finished his story and moved away from the circle of discussion. One of the men caught his eye and they shared a look, before Kev walked pointedly towards a servant and asked to be shown to the privy. He was led through the grand halls toward a wide washroom, and took small, surreptitious glances back to observe the same man following him, flanked by another servant. 

Once they were alone in the bathroom, the noble wordlessly took a pouch from within his doublet, drew a small, golden cylinder, put it to his nose and inhaled. He offered it to Kev, who took it from him and did the same, letting new colors swirl across his vision. 

Then he took the cylinder and stabbed the man in the eye, simultaneously clasping his hand over his victim’s mouth to suppress the volume of his scream. Kev tugged at his own doublet, peeling it open and reaching for the knife within. 

He slashed at the man’s jacket, turning the expensive fabric into ribbons, exposed his belly, and stabbed. The noble desperately bit down on Kev’s palm hard, pulling a chunk of flesh away, but the rogue merely groaned and huffed from the pleasure of the pain, grinding into the leg of his victim. He dragged the knife down, pulling the abdomen open, and let the knife clatter to the ground before pushing his hand in there, feeling the man’s organs and writhing guts. 

With a shove, Kev pushed the noble to the ground. He landed on his side with a wet thud. With the heel of his boot, the Aasimar pushed him onto his back, picked up the knife again, and drove it into his victim’s chest in a frenzy, no longer caring about the screams echoing off the walls of the bathroom. 

He expired. Kev looked down at the man’s motionless, shifting face. Everything was a swirl. He felt incredible, and this was just the warm-up. 

The next target was the lord of the city, and he needed to act fast to bring the pieces of the plan together. He removed the last of his clothes, closed his eyes and cast a spell. 

* * *

Lord Ivar took a swig of the fire-whiskey and slapped the shot glass onto the tray. The servant rose from bent knee and backed out of the room silently. Then as soon as the door touched the frame it burst open, bouncing off its hinges. 

Kev shimmered into visibility, teeth first. The man staggered back in shock, and barely had the presence of mind to splutter out an indignant “What are you doing here?” 

He just stepped forward, and Lord Ivar fell to the ground, horrified realization dawning upon him. 

“Guards!” he yelled. 

“No guards,” Kev smiled. “You don’t treat them well enough.” 

In his hand was the shot glass from the tray. He pressed his thumbs into the edges of the cup and pulled until it broke, splintering shards of glass into his hands. He held his fingers up to his face and picked out a particularly _large_ piece from it. Then he crouched down, held Lord Ivar’s chin between two fingers, and pushed the shard of glass into his cheek. 

Ivar screamed, his arms and legs flailing, hands drumming on the soft wooden floor. He drew them to his sides, and then with a soft _thunk,_ pulled the knife from his boot and plunged it into Kev’s side. 

Kev _groaned,_ and wrapped his hands around Ivar’s neck. 

Ivar’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.” he gasped, releasing his grip from the handle. The Aasimar bore down upon him with gleaming eyes, dark red blood streaming from the knife in his side, staining Ivar’s green silks with a clashing shade. And his raging erection. 

The glass shards in his hand clinked as Kev closed his palm over Ivar’s neck, drawing him to his face. 

“Grk–” Ivar gulped, blood oozing from the fresh wounds marking his neck. He squinted in desperation, fumbling for the knife embedded in the Aasimar’s side. In a swift strike, he pulled the knife out of Kev and slammed it into his leg. 

Kev just panted, rubbing up against Ivar’s front with his hardness. He released Ivar’s neck from his grip, pulled the knife out of his leg with a squelch, and stabbed it into Ivar’s throat. 

“Hnnngh!” Ivar whined, gritting his teeth. His assassin removed the knife and held it against his own cock in a single grip, frotting with the blade. 

“Can you see what I’m doing, Ivar?” Kev asked. “Look. This will be the last thing you see.” 

He drew his cock closer to Ivar’s head. 

“I’m going to fuck your face until you’re dead, and then I’m going to fuck it some more until I cum in your brain. It’s going to feel _so good._ ” 

Ivar looked up one last time, hot tears of panic in his eyes. The knife drew in completely. Everything turned red, and then to black. 

The knife slid past, cutting a furrow in the side of Kev’s embedded cock. He’d planted it in one of Ivar’s eyes, the unnaturally sharp blade breaking through to the brain. 

With both hands, Kev settled into the warmth of the dead noble’s head. He groaned with every thrust, from the pain of the knife pressing against his shaft, and the tightness of the passage into the skull. After all the teasing and murderous foreplay, he was already near orgasm. 

Kev took the knife out and slashed his own throat, triggering a final involuntary thrust into the corpse’s brain, fucking a thick load into the gray matter. 

He blacked out himself a few seconds later. 

* * *

Ardain sailed into the bedroom, crashing through the glass window. A quick glance over the two intertwined bodies lying on the floor, and he identified his target, kicking aside the other corpse. 

The demigod clasped his hand behind Kev’s head, touching their lips together. A faint glow sparked between them, and Kev began to stir. 

“We have a job to finish, Kev,” was Ardain’s first words to his devout follower. 

Kev looked up at Ardain, his newly restarted heart already racing in anticipation. 

“Ye-yes,” started Kev, and burst into a coughing fit, his throat ticking from the healing. He took a deep breath. “Yes, let’s show them a night they’ll never remember.” 

Ardain just smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter [@smtgshr](https://twitter.com/smtgshr) and check out my website [smutgusher.com](https://smutgusher.com) for more! 


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